gave her to the Friars of Richmond, provided they could catch her. Friar Middleton sets off with two wight men at musters to possess himself of the prize. They compel the sow to take refuge in a limekiln, where they hamper her with cords from above; but the felon sow breaks forth upon them, routs the escort, reduces the friar to conjuration out of his breviary, and at length to betake himself to a tree. Friar Middleton and his companions return in evil plight to the convent; and the warden, to redeem the disgrace, hires two bold men-at-arms to follow forth the adventure of the sow. They enter into solemn indenture to "bide and fight" to the death; and the warden, on his part, becomes bound to say masses for their souls if they miscarry. The men-at-arms, more successful than Friar Middleton, vanquish and kill the felon sow; and the convent sing "Te Deum" merrily, "that they had won the beast of price." "If you will any more of this, In the Friery at Richmond written it is, This tale, which possesses some portion of Cervantic humour, resembles the "Tournament of Tottenham" (See Percy's Reliques, vol. ii.), in which the peasants of a village are introduced imitating all the solemnities of a tournament, and battering each other's heads with flails, as knights did with long swords and maces. Another remarkable example of this class of comic romances is entitled, "The Hunting of the Hare." A yeoman, having found a hare sitting in the common field of a village, announces his discovery to the inhabitants. The peasants, resolving to course her, bring to the spot their great yard-dogs and mastiffs, "with short shanks, and never a tail." The confusion and disarray which follow the congregating of this illassorted pack is described with great humour. The ban-dogs, more addicted to war than sport, fall foul of each other-their masters are gradually involved in the quarrel-and poor puss steals away, leaying her enemies engaged in a grand scene of worrying and wrangling. This poem has never, we believe, been printed. We could add largely to these examples, and show that low romance formed a distinct style of composition during the middle ages; but we have already exceeded our bounds, and must dismiss Mr Evans's publication, which, always curious, has been greatly improved by his personal taste and labour. The next articles in our title, which are allied in subject to the Collection of Ballads, are two editions of the same work-Dr Aikin's well-known collection of songs, with the preliminary essay. Mr Evans, it seems from his preface, considered Dr Aikin to have given up any intention of reprinting his collection. "The many years which have elapsed since the publication of the last edition, seemed to leave no hope that Dr Aikin could be prevailed on to gratify the public by a revision and enlargement of his work. He had declined the task in the prime and vigour of life; and he might now think it unbecoming his years, to engage in a republication of these nugæ ca. noræ. Turpe senilis amor, the Doctor might exclaim; and though he might be pleased to see his volume ranged by the sides of those of Percy, Ellis, and some other similar publications, yet he has abandoned the friendly office of revision to other hands. Mr Evans has, however, reckoned without his host in this matter, and we are sorry that he did not take some more certain means of ascertaining the Doctor's intentions, considering his own labours; for we are not to suppose, that one who is an editor, as well as a bookseller, would have so far neglected the comitas due to a brother author, as to publish against him a rival edition of his own work. Dr Aikin prefaces his edition with the following account of his mo tives: "As enquiries were still, from time to time, made after it among the booksellers, the editor was asked the question whether he had any intention of reprinting it; accompanied with the intimation, that, as the copy-right was expired, should he decline the business, others would be ready to undertake it. Conscious that the essays were the juvenile attempts of one whose taste was by no means matured, and whose critical knowledge was circumscribed within narrow limits. the editor was unwilling that his book should again be given to the public with all its imperfections on its head. He was obliged, therefore, to declare, that if it were reprinted at all, it should be with many material alterations, corres ponding to his own change of taste and opinion in various points during so long an interval. "Under these almost compulsory circumstances, although he perhaps should not now have chosen for the first time to appear as the collector of productions, the general strain of which is more suitable to an earlier period of life. yet he thought he miga ithout impropriety, avail himself of the opportunity of making a new and much more extensive selection of compositions, which will not cease to be favourites with the lovers of elegant poetry, whatever be the vicissitudes of general taste." In the singular predicament of reviewing two rival editions of the same work, and without pretending to give a decision against Mr Evans, although we think he has treated Dr Aikin with somewhat less attention than his age, situation, and talents perhaps demanded, we cannot regret that we are possessed of both editions of the book, and trust, that (as the old song runs) "the world's wide and there's room for them all." We are particularly glad to have an opportunity of comparing Dr Aikin's original ideas upon the subject of song writing with those which he has since adopted. His four essays upon songs in general, upon ballads and pastoral songs, upon passionate and descriptive songs, upon ingenious and witty songs, are now blended into one general essay; but we love the classical turn of these little discourses so well, that we are glad they are preserved in their original state. Such directions and rules of composition, whether in their separate and detailed, or in their new moulded shape, were never more necessary than at the present day. The marriage between harmony and "immortal verse" has, like fashionable wedlock, frequently made some very ill-matched pairs; and we suspect that poetry must soon sue for a separate maintenance. The ladies, who aggravate her hardships; for it is rare to hear a fair songstress utter the words of the song which she quavers forth. But where taste and feeling for poetry happen to be united with a sweet and flexible voice, it is scarcely possible to mention a higher power of imparting and heightening social pleasure. We have heard Dr Aikin's simple ballad, "It was a winter's evening, and fast came down the snow," set by Dr Clarke, sung with such beautiful simplicity as to draw tears even from the eyes of reviewers. But the consideration of modern song opens to the critic a stronger ground of complaint, from the degeneracy of the compositions which have been popular under that name. Surely it is time to make some stand against the deluge of nonsense and indecency which has of late supplanted, in the higher circles, the songs of our best poets. We say nothing of the "Nancies of the hills and vales." Peace to all such !-let the miller and apprentice have their ballad, and have it such as they can understand. Let the seaman have his "tight main-decker," and the countess her tinseled canzonet. But when we hear words which convey to every man, and we fear to most of the women in society, a sense beyond what effrontery itself would venture to avow; when we hear such flowing from the lips, or addressed to the ears of unsuspecting innocence, we can barely suppress our execration. This elegant collection presents, to those who admire music, a means of escaping from the too general pollution, and of indulging a pleasure which we are taught to regard as equally advantageous to the heart, taste, and understanding. Both editions are considerably enlarged by various songs extracted from the best modern poets, and in either shape the work maintains its right to rank as one of the most classical collections of songs in any language. [From the Foreign Quarterly Review for 1828. On AUGER'S Edition of Molière, 9 vols. 8vo, Paris, 1819-27; and the "Histoire de la Vie et des Ouvrages de Molière. Par J. TASCHEREAU, Paris, 1825."] It will be universally admitted that in tragic performances nothing can be more distinctly different than the laws which regulate the French and English stage. The dissimilarity is so great, that a na with some attention the literature of the other, to enable him, not merely to relish, but even to endure the tragedies of the neighbouring kingdom. A Parisian critic would be shocked at the representation of Hamlet au naturel, and the most patient spectator in a Drury Lane audience would incur some risk of dislocating his jaws with yawning, during the representation of a chef-d'œuvre of Racine or Corneille. This difference betwixt the taste of two highly civilized nations is not surprising, when we consider that the English tragedy existed a hundred years at least before the French, and is therefore censured by our neighbours as partaking, to a certain extent, of the barbarity and grossness of the age of Queen Elizabeth. The two great tragedians of France, on the contrary, had the task of entertaining a polished and highly ceremonious court, whose judgment was at least as fastidious as it was correct, and in whose eyes a breach of etiquette was a more formidable crime than any deficiency in spirit or genius. Thus the English stage exhibited in word and in action every "change of many coloured life," mingled the tragic with the comic, the ludicrous with the horrible, seized by storm on the applause of the half-startled, half-affrighted audience, and presented to the judgment, like Salvator's landscapes to the eye, a chaos of the wonderful, mixed with the grotesque, agitating the passions too strongly to leave time to enquire whether the rules of critical taste were not frequently violated. The French stage, on the other hand, is carefully and exactly limited by a sense of decorum, which, exercised in its rigour, may be called the tyranny of taste. It is not lawful to please, says this dramatic code, unless by observance of certain arbitrary rules, or to create a deeper and more intense interest, than a strict obedience to the precepts of Aristotle and his modern commentators will permit. The English authors have therefore preferred exhibiting striking incidents and extraordinary characters placed in violent contrast, at the risk of shocking probability; and their keenest partisans must own, that they have been often absurd, when they aimed at being sublime. The French, on the other hand, limiting themselves in general to long dramatic dialogues, in which passion is rather analyzed than displayed, have sometimes become tedious by a display of ingenuity, where the spectator expected touches of feeling. It follows as a matter of course, that each country, partial to the merits of its own style of amusement, and struck with the faults which belong to a cast of composition so extremely different, is as severe in censuring the foreign stage, as it is indulgent in judging of its own. Two important questions arise out of this: first, whether, considering the many differences betwixt the taste both of nations and individuals, either country is entitled to condemn with acrimony the favourite which they never directed their arrows? and, secondly, whether there may not remain to be trodden, by some splendid genius yet to be born, some middle path, which may attain the just mean betwixt that English freedom approaching to license, and the severe system of French criticism, that sometimes cramps and subjects the spirit which it is only designed to guide or direct? Happily for us, our present subject does not require us to prosecute an enquiry so delicate as that which we have been led to touch upon. The difference in the national tastes of France and England, so very remarkable when we compare the tragedies of the two countries, is much less conspicuous in their comic dramas; where setting aside their emancipation from the tenets of the Stagyrite, the English comic writers do, or ought to, propose to themselves the same object with the French of the same class. As a proof of this, we may remark, that very few French tragedies have ever been translated, and of these few (the “Zaïre" of Voltaire excepted) still fewer have become permanently popular, or have been reckoned stock-plays,—whereas the English authors, from the age of the great man of whom we are about to speak, down to the present day, have been in the habit of transferring to the British stage almost all the comedies which have been well received in France. How it happens, that two nations which differ so much in their estimation of the terrible or the pathetic should agree so exactly in their sense of the gay, the witty, and the humorous, is a different question, which we are not called upon to discuss very deeply. Lord Chesterfield, however, has long since remarked (with the invidious intention of silencing an honest laugh) that laughter is a vulgar convulsion, common to all men, and that a ridiculous incident, such as the member of a company attempting to sit down when he has no chair behind him, will create a louder peal of mirth, that could be excited by the most brilliant sally of wit. We go no further with his lordship than to agree, that the sense of the comic is far more general among mankind, and far less altered and modified by the artificial rules of society, than that of the pathetic; and that a hundred men of different ranks, or different countries will laugh at the same jest, when not five of them perhaps would blend their tears over the same point of sentiment. Take, for example, the Dead Ass of Sterne, and reflect how few would join in feeling the pathos of that incident, in comparison with the numbers who would laugh in chorus till their eyes ran over at the too lively steed of the redoubtable John Gilpin. The moralist may regard this fact, either as a sign of our corrupted nature, to which the ludicrous feeling of the comic distress of a fellow-creature is more congenial than a sympathy with his actual miseries, or as a proof of the kindness of Providence, which, placing us in a valley of sorrows, has |